Beg For Me
by Drxgon-Frooty
Summary: Being a Resistance pilot comes with its benefits, but after escaping The First Order twice and looking General Hux in the face every time you begin to question if the benefits are all worth it. He makes it worth it, though he scares the shit out of you doing it. General Hux / Resistance Pilot Reader
1. Unfair Capture

The Resistance cared about its pilots, and they were strong enough to hold their own in hand-to-hand combat—let alone a situation like this. Being captured by The First Order was a given, each pilot had the coordinates to one or more Resistance sanctuaries. They were valuable in their own, even if they didn't receive the credit they sometimes deserved.

You, on the other hand, had made the disastrous decision to fight and lose. The First Order officers didn't play fair, and their StormTroopers didn't either. The moment you had crawled out of your smoking T-70, they were on you like flies to a corpse.

At first you had thought: 'There's just one, I can handle that', but boy were you wrong. One after the other, you were surrounded. Your brain was fuzzy with the sounds of overhead combat and the only reminder of your ongoing existence was the realization that you were staring down the barrel of not just one StormTrooper blaster—but six.

A disgruntled, programmed voice drew you from your dissociative state, "Remain on your knees, pilot." One Trooper pressed a metallic band around your left wrist, and within a few seconds you were at the mercy of The First Order.

—

Your audience consisted of three Troopers, a medic, and the General of the First Order. General Armitage Hux. It wasn't a good sign to have him, of all people, looking down at your form. It means that you had to have been the only one they managed to capture alive. While every commander was adamant on staying alive; it was standard for many pilots to die in battle before they relinquished any information on the Resistance's whereabouts in the surrounding systems.

He looked absolutely _malevolent_. He was clothed in all black, his shoulders were squared, and he radiated power. Blue eyes, set deep into his skull framed by sharp bones, looked as though they wanted nothing more than to send you flying into the cold of space.

General Hux was all sharp lines; from his hair to boots, there wasn't a hint of softness on the man. You imagined what he was capable of, and regretted it.

If the General were scary like this, without a weapon in hand, you mused what it was like to stand face-to-face with the Knights of Ren and their commander.

"They refuse to talk," oh, now he looked tired and _somewhat_ amused. "Perhaps we ought to look into another candidate, General sir."

"Are you trained to give up so easily? Or are you afraid to use unconventional methods?" He began his slow move toward your prone position. "Look at me, pilot." Instantaneous refusal. Looking up from this position would be uncomfortable as well as a strike to your pride. "Stubborn as always."

You had only encountered General Hux twice before, and they had been on rescue missions. He'd must've seared your image into his mind.

A black-gloved hand encased your chin, fingertips dug into your jaw with a dull bite. Your head was pulled against the strain of your neck, and you looked the General in the eye. His lips were turned upward at the corners as he memorized the minuscule details of your face. With your lips pursed, covered in blood and dirt, you must've been a sight to behold.

"I am sure, with a little bit of a push, I can get you to sing like a pretty bird."


	2. Emperor Hux

"You know, if it changes anything, I only know the singular coordinates to a location you've already destroyed," Hux made a noise in the back of his throat, but you continued nonetheless, "I'm of no use to you, technically."

"Is this your pitiful attempt at bargaining?"

"You plan on killing me?"

"No."

His gloves were still on, but he had removed his great coat. You raised a brow in surprise, but he remained silent with no intent of integrating you in his plans. This was a waste of time. You tested the restraints, no give. You weren't force-sensitive; you were going to have to do this alone.

"So, pilot, you put up some fight with our soldiers. You have the resolve to withstand our 'methods', and now you're here," Hux pulled his gloves from his hands and maintained eye contact with you. "I have been ridiculously tense, and your resilience is entertaining."

"General…" Was he going to use you as a punching bag for some sadistic stress-relief? Was he out of his kriffing mind? He made his way to your form, but he was slow—as if he contemplated what he was going to do with you. His barehand on your face was ice-cold; his hold there was harsh as he turned your head to look up at him. His eyes flashed, his tongue peaked to moisten his lips. Something deep in you shivered.

He lowered himself to one knee so that he was eye-level with you. His voice was low, and you didn't know what he meant by it. "If Ren can have it, so can I." The hand on your jaw travelled down to your neck, fingers slowly wrapped to where his thumb pressed a groove into your jugular. Louder, this time, he spoke to you directly with a growl in his tone that sent your nerves haywire: "I want to have some fun, indulge me."

Sure! He was gorgeous! This is what happened in those old school romances. Fraternizing the enemy, falling for the dangerous looks of the villain! He was a compete douchebag; his character traits were everything the Resistance was fighting against! Oh, but when he tugged you close with his fingers still dug so deliciously into the tender flesh of your neck, you couldn't fathom resistance.

His lips fell at the corner of your own and lingered there. "What do they teach pilots like you? Is it redeemable to kill the enemy when he has no weapons on him?"

He pulled away and waited for an answer, lips turned up in a sardonic smirk. It took everything to level your voice and reply: "If ending the war meant taking you out with a hatchet I think I would give up a few humanity points for that."

A chuckle rumbled out of his chest, and the grip on your neck tightened to the point of your seeing stars. "You want to kill me?" His lips locked with yours in a kiss that showered you in heat. You could feel your cheeks tingle with embarrassment and frustration, your thighs squeezing together. Your lips parted in an invitation, and his tongue traced along the grooves of your mouth until he tangled his tongue with your own.  
The grip on your neck was leavened momentarily, but with your own hands still bound behind you you were left to lean into his touch. His other hand came to rest behind your head. He pulled away, hand tangled in your hair and face flushed.

"I will say it again, indulge me," who were you to deny? You nodded reverently, legs so tightly pressed together you were in fear that he wouldn't finish what he was starting. "Be good, and stay on your knees like that."

You mused over the General's kinks—he seemed to have a thing for power-play, and in a position like his own he must get off to an assortment of commands. The hand in your hair balled into a fist before he traced a line to your lips. He rose to stand, his other hand splayed over the front of his trousers.

He pressed his index and middle finger against the seam of your lips and you parted hesitantly. "Suck." You did as told. His fingers, no longer as cold as they had been previously, curled in your mouth. You gave a particularly harsh suck and with that the General's head bowed, his chin meeting with his chest with a groan. His other hand hastily worked with his silver belt buckle (you momentarily wondered if he'd spank you with it, but the thought was pushed aside as he threw the piece behind him) and freed himself.

He was, certainly, fairly endowed. His cock curved upward slightly and precum already beaded at the tip. It twitched when he pulled his fingers from your lips with a trail of saliva. "Open."

Breathless and a bit lightheaded, you managed to whimper "Yes, General" before taking the head between your lips. He growled, hips jerked as muscles grew taught in his legs and stomach. The soft warmth of your lips around him was more than welcome.

His taste was salty and he smelled like cologne and fresh linens. You looked up from your position and was pleased with the sight. His normally pale cheeks were a lovely shade of red, beside the freckles that littered his cheekbones and nose, and his lips were parted as he inhaled and exhaled heavily. His breaths would soon become pants, but you weren't doing nearly what he wanted just yet.

Both hands joined behind your head, fingertips laced together with your hair before he pushed himself deeper into the warmth of your mouth. You gagged a bit, tears built up at the corners of your eyes before you swallowed around him (which earned you a particularly drawn out moan). He pulled back, the head of his cock touched your lips once more, and then he was sheathed in your mouth again. Your nose met with the groomed red curls of his pelvis before he pulled back again.

Your hands fisted and unclenched in time with the tight heat between your legs. He didn't strike you, initially, as the type to be this forceful.

Saliva and precum dripped down your chin and left a trail to his cock as it exited your parted lips.

"Look at me," his blue eyes were practically black, blown wide with his lustful pride, "What a pretty one you are." He pressed the tip against your lips for one last thrust before he pulled back. With a hand still balled in your hair, he lifted you to your feet along with him and had you backed into a table. His ginger hair was tousled beyond help. A strand or two hung in his blue eyes, which held the same dangerous glint as they did when you first arrived aboard The Supremacy. Your insides were on fire, and you couldn't help but whimper as he tugged your pants to the ground and hoisted you onto the table.

He leaned in close, lips pressed to your jugular as he settled himself comfortably against you. Your hips burned with the want to jut yourself forward and feel in you, but you resisted for the sake of your mangled pride once more. He moved his lips to your ear, his breath heavy as a slipped the tip of his cock into you slowly—only to pull back.

You grunted, jaw slack as you focused on his shoulders. "I want to touch you."

He pulled away from you, nose pressed against yours as he eyed the junction between your thighs. He drawled, "Why…?"

"Please, General Hux, _sir_ ," that seemed to do it for him. "Am I not being good enough for you, sir?"

A click and your bound hands were free. He eyed you; dared you to make a wrong move, dared you to waste his time. Your hands jolted to your waist, were you hefted your shirt over your head. Once accomplished, you curled your fingers into the disheveled mess atop his crown. He purred and thrusted into your core. He lifted you so that your back laid against the desk and his hips could angle themselves so that he was painfully deep. A moan stuttered out of his lips, his breath hitched, and he hid his face into the crook of your neck.

Two thrusts and you witnessed the façade crumble. General Armitage Hux was _loud_ , but all the while good with his hands. When his hips lost rhythm, his fingertips were there to spill sweet sounds from your own lips. At this point, he had completely fallen apart. His hair hung in wisps across his forehead, cheeks flushed with pleasure, and his eyes were mere moments from rolling into the back of his head. At some point, he rested his forehead on your shoulder a buried himself deep. His hips stilled there, his hot breath fanned across your oversensitive skin and you racked your nails down his back.

It was quick, but he pulled out of you and bent you over the table. The metal of the table, warmed by your bare skin, still pebbled the skin around your nipples and you let out a groan. "Hux…"

His lips were next to your ear in a moment. " _General_ Hux," but he didn't enter you again and you rolled your hips with distaste. "Say it, and I'll oblige."

"General Hux, please."

"Again."

"Emperor Hux," _ohhh_ , if you knew what a response you'd receive for that, you would've done that the moment you knew where this was going. Your cheek met with the metal table as his fingers splayed over your back and he entered you rough and fast. The delicious drag of his cock inside of you was enough to drive you over the edge, but you didn't have long now. At this angle, he was hitting a spot so deep you saw stars. "Nnngh, Emperor…"

"Louder," you complied. He purred against the skin of your shoulder before he nipped at you.

His fingers reached between you both to rest a gentle but relentless finger between your folds. You were soaked, your legs began to shake as he pressed just the right amount of pressure into that button. A vignette was beginning to hug your vision as he continued to thrust at an angle that was almost overstimulating. And then he hit it, a bundle of nerves within you and outside of you were hit at the same time at just the right time to fling you over the edge. His name was a mantra on your lips, and he seemed to have forgotten his title in that moment as well.

The groans he attempted to hide in the flesh of your shoulder rumbled through your body; he pressed deep. You were empty, suddenly, before you were tugged from the table and onto your knees once more. Your fingernails dug into the flesh of his thighs and left a angry red line in their wake.

He was in the welcoming heat of your mouth once more before he moaned to the high heavens. The pulse of his cock filled your mouth, his release coated the base of your tongue and lips. He joined you on your knees and captured your lips in another heated kiss. When he pulled away, he lingered over your lips.

"You've been such a sweet, _tight_ delight."

Oh, so he was going to keep you around?


End file.
